


Absence makes the heart so fearful....

by bluegerl



Category: Sons of Gondor
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegerl/pseuds/bluegerl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean isn't in the best of moods when Viggo drops by on his way from here to there.  He feels this way so many times.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence makes the heart so fearful....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savageseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/gifts).



Sons of Gondor, Trick or Treat.

Request is for savage_seraph

Title: Absence makes the heart so fearful.  
Category: RPS Viggo/Sean.  
Rating: NC17.  
Warning: BDSM.  
Words: 3100 approx.  
Beta'd by dear who herself writes with such clarity and precision... if there are any errors then they have been made by me... i am inclined to 'fiddle'.

Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with these poor human men. I have just taken a fantasy pair and played games, and nothing indicated in this piece has taken place. It is all 'in the mind'. I do hope there will be no offence found by the two names involved...but then... they'll never find out will they!

Summary.: Human nature being what it is, Sean is ... jealous? Afraid?

 

Viggo watched the taut back-muscles beneath the too tight shirt as Sean crashed the kettle into its slot. He'd been a little unsettled at the unresponsive greeting when he dropped his bag in the hallway and he wondered what had happened to upset the usually vigorous welcome.

"Hej. What's with the grumps?"

The cupboard door slammed as two mugs were banged onto the work-surface.

"Bean ... it's me. Who's been troubling you?"

One mug was thrown noisily back into the cupboard and the mate gourd retrieved.

"Is it me - what have I done?"

A tense pause then a heaving breath into Sean's lungs before his hands curled into tight fists. He turned and looked at Viggo with near hate in his usually laughing eyes. Viggo almost ducked at the power behind this look, feeling it directed straight at him. He meandered very gently round the table to the tall cupboard that stood the other side of the cooker. Sean just watched him move as if he was looking at a cockroach soiling his immaculate kitchen.

"Bean. I want to know. What have I done?"

"DONE?" The words burst from Sean's lips like a shot being fired. "Done? You bastard. You ask what you've done?" He turned back to the kettle and pulled it wildly from its socket, spilling boiling water on his hand.

"Yes, I did ask that." Viggo's gentle dusty voice crept cautiously across the tension biting chunks out of the air.

"You fucking walk in here... like you fucking own the place! Yet you can't come here first -- Oh no. you have to spend time signing into pissing posh hotels, visiting other 'friends' who you'd prefer to spend your time with. You're in London a whole bloody day and night before you condescend to come and see your so-called lover. You didn't even tell me you were coming three days early either!" Sean's voice rose higher and began to assume the cadence of a spoiled child whining.

Viggo knew it would be useless explaining why he had to appear in a suit at a hotel and feel wretched because he himself would've so much rather have been behind the front door of Bean's home being kissed off his feet, with greedy hands reaching for his belt and ripping his pants off. Publicity had its own poisons to ruin dreams.

He waited, he knew there'd be more shouting before he could dispel the misery he could hear screaming from Sean's hurt voice.

"You fucker... You know how little time we have... is it too much for you to let us have as much as we can?" Sean's voice faltered, "Unless of course, you don't want ..." His voice stopped, and he seemed to choke on the words he didn't want to say.

He turned and put hot water into the two mugs. Then leaned his hands on the worktop, his head turned down as if looking into them. Viggo hadn't seen any tea being spooned in.

"If you don't want to be here... I mean, if it's not what you want, you'll have to bloody say. I'm fucking bad at guessing. Me wives knew that." A swallow, the throat working. "I can't mind-read, Vig..." Anger reared in a froth as he turned again, his top lip raised in a familiar snarl. "I need to have it spelled out!"

"Hej, Bean. Don't do ...."

"Don't do what? Don't say it first? Don't say you don't fuckin' want meh? " Sean strode the four steps to stand so close to Viggo their breaths mingled, sharing whisky with stale cigarette smoke and mint gum.

"I don't want yer to stay in hotel rooms where we - IF - we meet, we 'ave to keep our voices down and I can't tell yer how much I lo.... How much I need yer - your fucking gorgeous co..."

Another choking swallow and hands rose as if to grip, or strike. "Oh, shite, Vigs -- I need yer, yer bastud... I want yer lovin', yer fuckin', yer 'and up meh arse... yer cock thumping"

Viggo felt his t-shirt screwed into his armpits

" ...the back of my throat..." Sean's voice harsh, and the cupboard door grunted. "I want to have you hurtin'..."

Growling darkly, deeply ... "I ... want ... you .... yer hardness -- yer ... fuckin' -- stupid"

Sean's voice harsh and high " Yer demands, yer commands ... to cum. Yer bloody -- "

Shouted spits of saliva dotting Viggo's face. "Arrogance -- yer ..."

With each halting word Sean's hands were gripping Viggo by his shoulders and lifting him, banging him back against the cupboard door so hard that the unit was coming away from the screws holding it close to its expensive brothers and sisters. Viggo's breath was being knocked from him, and his head was being flung back so hard his eyes watered.

"I want yer, yer bastud. I want yer ter bluddy beat meh, abuse meh ... I want yer.... Hard!"

Viggo had had enough -- the cupboard door handle was creating a bad bruise above his kidney and he knew it was going to be rough for a short while. He closed his eyes for a second then brought his forehead forward with a loud crack against Sean's face. A gasp as hands left his shoulders to reach but it was too late. Viggo had Sean smacked hard against the other worktop and was hitting him -- back and forth, fast, hard and with an open palm on his face, his head, his neck, his shoulders and back to his neck and in between their rapid travels batting away the clumsy efforts Sean was making to catch them. The noise of his hand echoed his hard harsh grunt and Sean's scattered sounds.

Sean gave a shouted grunt then brought his knee up, but was counter-attacked by Viggo who had been waiting for it. He grabbed the leg and heaved upwards. Sean collapsed, crashing on to the floor, then crouching, he began to crawl. Viggo leapt on his back, his legs gripping Sean's waist and his hands pulling at Sean's head, twisting it back. Sean rolled and Viggo had to let go caught against the worktop base. Sean again leapt for the doorway, but Viggo caught his ankle which sent Sean crashing into the hallway, his elbow smashing into the door-frame.

They rose, gasping, grunting, and Sean backed into the lounge. Viggo didn't care by then if any of Sean's beloved treasures got smashed. This was Sean's choice. He'd give as good as he was being given and then some more. He felt as frustrated as Sean now. They both needed to fight, to get out the anger and misery of the months of being apart that had soaked into them.

Sean girdled the sofa, half crouching, with his hands clawed before him, his eyes glittering. Viggo almost laughed out loud -- it was such a classic pose beloved of corny movie directors. Male being aggressive! He glanced down at his own hands, and found he had adopted the same pose.

He followed Sean round the sofa until they were in the space between that and the piano. Then Sean feinted and Viggo bent and grabbed a leg, badly but hard enough to tip Sean over. He himself fell, crashing sideways into the Steinway that suddenly sang musically in protest. Sean cracked his head beneath the key-board lifting it from the pedals, and tried to heave himself up with the piano stool. Viggo lunged again and they rolled over and over until the bookcase shed several hardbacks on them, their spines being broken beneath the weight of two grown men thrashing around. Viggo managed to sit on Sean's belly and grab his hands and felt the aggression slowing in the thumping of Sean's knees on his back. Sean's face was scarlet and blood from his nose streaked across both cheeks. He puffed in agonizing breaths and Viggo watched his chest heaving, in almost matching time with Viggo's own heavy grunting breaths.

They slowly ceased their struggles and began to find balance again.

Viggo remained sitting on Sean's belly until Sean grunted with a weak smile. "Gerroff, Vigs, I'm out of breath!"

"You're getting old and fat and out of condition, Bean!"

"I'm not built the same as you, I'm a get-stouter body... not a get-skinnier-than-ever sort! Gerroff meh?"

Slowly, reluctantly Viggo unfolded himself from his comfy position and painfully stood. He found he had acquired a lot of places that hurt now that hadn't before. He knew he'd be prettily coloured in places that his tattoos wouldn't be hiding. He put his hand down with a small smile, Sean grinned weakly and placed his own wet, blood-speckled hand in it. Viggo pulled and Sean unfolded, then stood wobbling slightly, trying to brush his hair back from his face.

"Well?" His voice was breathless, partly from exertion and a little from apprehension.

"Well what?"

"Well. Do you want to be here, or rather not? "

"Here, you stupid Yorkshire idiot. Here... fighting with you." Viggo's eyes, grey now from the bright blue they'd been in the fight, looked straight into Sean's red-rimmed ones. "I don't think you realize that I need to get into you, as much as you want me to! Or that you're going to get it so fucking hard you'll be screaming. THAT is why I came round. I shan't be sleeping at any plastic hotel, and we'll certainly not be abusing their beds or ears."

"Yer OK with that then? You know ... you know what I want, I need.... Fucking women is like sticking me cock into marshmallows or custard... no bloody power in it. No resistance, no pain... Come on lad, up to our room. Cum and fook meh like yer means it!"

~~~~~~~

Sean lay, showered and oiled on the special bed. His hands stretched comfortably above his head, the ties ensuring that during his struggles he'd not tear any skin from his wrists.

His eyes shone, watching eagerly, as Viggo knelt at the foot of the bed, naked and shining golden, his recently acquired bruises barely showing yet. His muscles glistened as he finished tying Sean's one ankle loosely to the bed-foot, and Sean thought how hard his body was, how angularly muscular yet smoothly rounded when not in movement. How beautifully moulded the shoulders, the narrow hips and those strong, so strong thighs that could hold a horse and nearly kill Sean as they gripped his waist or ribs. He felt his cock begin to swell more, raising a wish to drool in anticipation of the joys to come.

Viggo looked up and down his captive. Pale, almost pearl white, with that hot pink marking where skin and flesh had met corners and Viggo's hands, feet and elbows. He watched as Sean's cock rose and twitched hopefully, then lay quietly half-full on its side until called up. Viggo admired beauty, in whatever shape it came, but Sean's body, even becoming heavier and thicker as time passed, was still formidably desirable, especially when it was lying here, stretched, tied, and begging Viggo to enjoy using it.

The paddle had been discarded in favour of a trainer as Sean had refused at first to lie on the bed. So Viggo had had to insist. Forcibly again, and the dresser had shed its bottles of lube and other prosthetics for entertainment. As the paddle had slid under the bed, Viggo, a master of improvisation, had handcuffed Sean to the chair, then sat beneath the heavy body and wielded his own dirty trainer. First on one cheek of that white buttock and then the other, with pauses of irregular intervals between one 'crack' and the burn of the next smack.

Sean would always start by pretending he felt nothing, then bit by bit, the silence would become huffs of breath, then light grunts, until when his buttocks were blushing bright with blood beneath the hot skin, he'd say his safe-word. The routine was the same each time, and as Sean had grunted his concession, Viggo had immediately tossed the trainer into the corner of the room and stroked soft cooling oil over the tenderness.

Now Sean was ready. They both had found this scenario over the years to be one of their meetings - the joining of mind, hearts and bodies. This completed each the other. Now ... the second part of their proving...

 

Sean's belly twitched as Viggo's hand stroked from his cock base flat over Sean's abdomen and up to his throat. He groaned quietly as hard tipped fingers wandered delicately down, over his nipple and traced across to the other. Viggo's eyes watched Sean's face as his finger and thumb pinched, hard, then stroked: the fingers continued down walking tiptoe not quite lightly enough to tickle, to the navel, and stroking, pushing softly in there, round and round, with his silver grey hairs falling forward over Viggo's concentrating face like a veil of communion. He could hear Sean's breath hitching and then blowing hard through his nose. VIggo's voice kept asking

"You like this, Sean?" His hand continued its straying, feeling into the curve of the hollow between hipbone and pubis and pushing down to slide warmly between the folds of skin between Sean's balls and his cheeks, resting there, feeling the heat.

"You are enjoying this, Bean?" Viggo's soft slow voice curled round Sean's mind and pulled pain and love from it. He was going to where he wanted to be....

Viggo sang in his throat, a tuneless song as he moved his hand, pulling it back just a little, then reinserting it, to let the heavy balls rest knocking against his wrist. His other hand held Sean's penis almost as if he were pondering. reflecting on its heat, its hardness, as he slid his hand gently in tune with the hand between the legs. Sean's foreskin slid wetly, shining with the pre-cum dripping regularly from the eye as if it were sobbing in urgent pain. Sean's voice was grating deep beyond harmony, deep inside where his soul-music was being made.

Viggo moved one hand back to Sean's throat.... to a moaning grunt from that throat as the gag muffled the annoyance of the scrotum being deserted.

The other hand stroked down in an arpeggio to the knee, then nipped beneath and gripped hard. So hard that Sean involuntarily gasped; he'd already bitten down so hard that his teeth ached, and now tears of aching agony were sliding into his hair.

Viggo looked up between his hair curtain and smiled. Slow, and dark and promising, and Sean's body arched, demanding ... demanding ...

Sean's eyes signaled wildly but Viggo just smiled evilly and lifted the hand that was holding Sean by the throat, bringing that down to work with the torturing hand. It pushed Sean's legs further apart and they lifted as light as as a butterfly to where the hands commanded. Then those hard but gently wicked hands worked down the inside of both thighs again, then held Sean's knees wide as Viggo's head bent and began to trickle a long agile tongue up Sean's perineum to the darker puckered entrance, already clenching and loosening in its need.

Sean began to sing in his throat. His hands opened and closed without his knowing. Viggo blew gently, while his hands travelled up Sean's belly again, and began to toy with his nipples. There seemed to be no way that Sean' could lift his body any further to coerce Viggo to give him what he craved... he needed. Viggo swallowed a testicle, rolling it round his mouth and letting it fall wetly back. Sean sang high in a near-scream. Viggo's tongue reached for the purple tip of Sean's agonised penis and rolled obscenely delicately round and over and under. The purple grew darker, and Sean's breath stuttered and roared in and out of his nose, blowing wetness into the air as tears were forced between his clenched eyelids.

Then Viggo's hands walked again, tiptoeing down the sweating sides, then across to the centre, finding the line of muscle that led to the dimple of the navel. They lifted and Sean's skin rippled in distress. His voice whined a high singing note and Viggo laughed softly, his breath sliding promises over Sean's weepingly soaked cock with the cock-ring barely visible in the shaft.

Sean heard himself sobbing. His eyes were really giving the game away, so he let himself go and begged. Begged with his eyes, his tears, his twitching, crying, weeping body. This was his homecoming to Viggo. He was giving himself to his love, to be absorbed, taken, abused and used. This is how he needed to have love. To give love. To beg and be granted, to grant in return with the giving of his impossible depth of passion.

Viggo looked down at him. Saw the pale body, becoming heavier with the years but still beautifully formed and so pliable under his fingers as it reached for him. Reached to be consumed, to be released... and Viggo knew how that would be. A tortured, distorted face glazed scarlet with exertion, sweat pouring, and a throat distended with veins bursting with the agony of the bellow that declared the climax that would lay him unconscious.

Viggo himself would have to wait until the need had been extinguished before he could have his own need fulfilled. He began with his tongue, then his fingers, while Sean began to relax, lost in his ecstasy, his muffled voice unknowing wandering into the corners of the room.

It was time, and Viggo knelt, lifting Sean's hips up until they fitted into the curve of Viggo's own. Sean whined sweetly as Viggo watched himself as he placed his own engorged penis at the opening, wet, shining with saliva and lube and made it begin its way home. His head lifted, to gaze at Sean's face, Viggo's darkly-wide-pupiled eyes seeing the glassy incoherence of Sean's own green weeping ones. Then Viggo's hand reached for the gag and his other hand reached down ...

 

A day and a half later as a jet screamed into the sky towards the south, Sean could, if he had been seeing anything, have watched the pewter half-light of drizzle painting the tips of his grass silver and pearling the autumn spiderwebs into fairy diadems.

He could not see his garden.

He could only feel his heart being broken, again.


End file.
